


So Far

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Adventures in Babysitting (1987)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Angst and Humor, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sexual Experimentation, Teen Romance, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad/Daryl, post-Babysitting. There's more to Daryl than meets the eye, and after their adventures together that crazy night his relationship with his neighbor Brad begins to grow and change in some unexpected ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:Adventures in Babysitting is not my movie. In fact, I rented it from Blockbuster. So there.

Brad turned away from the window with a sigh, reluctantly shutting the blinds and thus shutting out the sight of his long-time crush, Chris Parker, and her brand new boyfriend Dan. Tall, dark and handsome Dan. It was official- he didn't have a chance in hell. Not that he really had before, not as a freshman that she babysat, but at least he had clung to that one little shred of hope. Until now.

He turned back to Sara and Daryl with a smile, only half-fake. He was happy for her, he really was. At least she wasn't with that asshole Mike anymore. Sara continued grinning in that childish way of hers, reminding him once again that despite her occasional strokes of brilliance she was, in fact, a child. But it still tugged at his heart.

Who wouldn't be sad, watching their first love walk away on the arm of a great guy like that? He sighed, plopping back down on his bed, and pretended to listen as Sara blabbered on and on about Thor and how one day she was sure she would meet him again, and get her hat back.

Across the two beds, Daryl offered him an understanding sort of half-smile, and for some reason it did make him feel a little bit better. Daryl… He was a sex fiend, sure, his pervert next door neighbor, and before that night they'd never been the best of friends, but tonight he'd proven himself. Standing up to Mike like that in the way that he couldn't bring himself to was one of the bravest things he'd ever seen. And it made him look on the depraved ginger boy with a much larger sense of respect, not to mention some warm tingly feeling that coiled in his stomach.

It was another few minutes until their parents came in, beckoning Sara to bed- "It's past your bedtime, young lady!"- and left the two boys alone in their single beds, just two feet apart. Brad laid back on his bed, arms behind his head and eyes trained on the ceiling, lost in thoughts of Chris and their entire crazy night and, strangely, of Daryl. The other boy sat quietly as well for a few minutes before breaking the silence.

".. So, what are you gonna do now that Chris has a boyfriend?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious and not as though he were just looking for a conversation starter.

"Dunno," Brad replied, shrugging. He turned his head to look at his redheaded friend, who was sitting cross-legged on the other bed looking at him intently with those blue, blue eyes of his. "What d'you think I should do? There's nothin' I can do, is there?"

"Probably not… I kind of like that Dan guy," the other boy admitted, lips quirked in another lopsided smile. It was, dare Brad think it, _cute_. He thought to himself that Daryl would probably have an easier time getting a date if he weren't such a pervert right off the bat, because he definitely had the cute factor going for him.

He frowned, shaking the thought out of his head. Cute? He didn't think Daryl was cute. Daryl was- Daryl! And not to mention, he was a boy. And Brad was very much a straight teenaged boy. Why else would he have spent the entire night following Chris around like a lost puppy rather than safe at home watching his sister? He LIKED Chris, with her curvy body and her long, curly eyelashes and her permed blonde hair, and therefore he MUST be straight.

Having reaffirmed his sexuality, he turned his attention back to Daryl who was still staring at him with those unnerving blue eyes of his. He blinked, trying to recall his train of thought, but now all he could see was Daryl.

"… You okay?" there was a note of nervous concern in Daryl's voice, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his friend uncertainly. "Your stitches hurting you or something?"

"N-no, nothing, I just got distracted," he smoothed it over with a small laugh. "Yeah, Dan was… Cool. He was a nice guy. Better than Mike."

"'So Cool'," Daryl mocked, his fingers making quotation marks in the air as he rolled his eyes. "I can't believe she even dated that shithead."

"Neither can I…" Shaking his head, Brad returned his eyes to the ceiling. The mixed feelings he was getting were starting to make him uncomfortable. Every time he looked at his friend, he recalled that moment when the other boy had seen him emerging from behind the curtain in the hospital and his eyes lit up, sparks of cerulean, and he had rushed forward and pulled him into a rough embrace.

" _Don't you ever die on me, Brad!" he'd demanded when he pulled away, face serious and tone reprimanding. Brad felt himself start to smile, mostly in confusion._

_Daryl was really that worried about him? Since when did Daryl ever really LIKE him, anyways? They were friends, but never great ones. Never ones that would cry over each other's death... Right? But now, Daryl's blue eyes sharp and his lips trembling, looking like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he realized- maybe they WERE and he'd just missed it._

_Maybe he and Daryl meant more to each other than either of them had acknowledged before._

" _Okay? I… won't?" he agreed, and the relief in Daryl's expression had been downright palpable. And with that, their moment was over._

But now he recalled it, the picture in his mind crystal clear, and that weird tingly feeling returned. The same one he'd gotten when Daryl showed up and made a puffer fish face against his glass door, grinning at him, or when their hands had brushed as he handed over the Playboy, or especially when their lips had been just a few inches away from each other's and for a moment everything had slowed down, became him and Daryl, and-

Damn it, he needed to stop thinking like that. God only knew that Daryl was enough of a pervert for both of them. He didn't need to add his own weird sexually-charged thoughts to the mix.

If he was queer, he'd know by now, right? He was sixteen. And while he wasn't as obvious about it as. say, Daryl, he DID enjoy those Playboy centerfolds…

After a couple of moments of comfortable silence, the bedsprings of the other bed creaked as Daryl got up and padded over to his bed, sitting beside him and making the mattress dip. He dug in his jacket and pulled out the magazine, grinning and opening it to the centerfold that looked so disturbingly like their babysitter.

"Here. I figure you should have it. Since, you know, she's got herself a hot boyfriend now, and you have _needs_." The way he said it, with a smirk and his already deep voice lowering suggestively, made Brad blush to the roots of his hair.

"Wait- hot? You think he's hot?" He frowned, and suddenly it wasn't him squirming anymore but the other boy.

"Well-… I guess- Brad? Can I tell you a secret?" Biting his lip, the redheaded boy scooted closer, looking a lot less cocky than he had only a minute before. Slowly nodding, Brad watched him curiously, heart beating erratically.

The redheaded boy seemed to steel himself for a moment, shoulders tensing, and took a deep breath before he leaned in and whispered into Brad's ear, "I think- I think I might- swing both ways."

Brad jerked back, brown eyes widening comically in surprise. "Swing- what do you MEAN?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low. His parents and Sara were all probably asleep by now, and he definitely wasn't about to wake them up during this conversation. His mind was racing. What _did_ Daryl mean by that? Was it what he thought he meant? Because if so…

Fidgeting, Daryl averted his blue eyes awkwardly and muttered, "Like both, you know. I mean… Girls and guys. I think I like both. I've never told anyone that before." He looked back up, guardedly hopeful, and Brad just nodded.

Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure what to _do_ with this information. So Daryl liked guys. Why was he telling _Brad_ about this? Sure, maybe they'd come out on the other end of this night as better friends, but were they really at THIS point already? Telling each other their deepest secrets? This was progressing way, way too fast and all of a sudden Brad felt overwhelmed.

Then again… Did he really want to just step on Daryl's feelings by telling him that he really, really did not need to know that he was queer?

Plastering on a reassuring smile, he gave the other boy a quick nod as if approving this. "Yeah?" he asked, and he wondered if his voice really sounded that strange or if he was just overthinking it. "You don't say. Cool."

Daryl's relief seemed to fill the room, and the wide grin that stretched across his face wasn't even the half of it. He, glanced back at the mattress, then back to Brad, and his eyes flickered back and forth for a few moments before he managed to stammer out, "R-really, you don't… care or anything? You don't think it's weird? Because you can call me a faggot and kick me out if you want, I get it-"

"I'm not going to kick you out!" Brad had to be incredulous at that, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, if you thought I was gonna like molest you in your sleep or something…"

"C'mon, Daryl, you've slept over before and nothing like that happened. And I mean, you're… you. I'm having trouble even imagining you… to guys…" Making a lewd hand gesture to mime masturbation, Brad wrinkled his nose slightly distastefully, trying to rid his brain of the sudden and rather disturbing images of his friend with his hand down his pants that seemed to have taken root.

Daryl went five shades redder, spluttering and leaning away. "I- I don't! I mean… I do… But- That-" He couldn't seem to form any complete phrases, let alone sentences, and he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, staring down at the comforter in a rare moment of insecurity. "I- I'm sorry, I should- I'll shut up now."

Although this sounded like a perfectly great plan to Brad, who was struggling to contain that tingly feeling that was now spreading from his stomach up his abdomen and through all of his limbs, and down below the waist, he couldn't justify letting Daryl look so miserable. "You can keep talking, if you want…" he offered hesitantly.

"No, I'll make an ass out of myself," he laughed, although he didn't sound very amused by this at all. "Don't listen to me. I'm just babbling nonsense. It's all shit. I'm just tired. S'been a long day, you know?"

Nodding silently, Brad didn't put up anymore resistance, and one slight awkward pause later they returned to poring over the centerfold together, Daryl pointing out all of the little details he'd noticed while studying the picture. Despite himself, Brad felt himself sneaking glances at the other boy out of the corner of his eye every once in a while.

How could _Daryl_ like guys? The very suggestion was ludicrous, and if he'd heard it from anyone else he would have written it off in a heartbeat. No one in their school was, well… _that way_. At least as far as he knew. Then again, who would really advertise it? Maybe the chicks were allowed to get drunk at parties, be all over each other- it was hot when CHICKS did that kind of thing. But guys into other guys? They'd get their asses kicked in three seconds flat.

Soon enough it was past midnight, and Brad's mom peeked her head in. "Lights out, boys," she told them with a smile, but her voice left no room for argument. They grumbled a little, stashing the Playboy away before she could see, but complied and stripped down to their boxers, slipping under their respective covers and murmuring goodnights as she flicked the light switch down, the room going dark. The door closed softly as she exited, and the two boys were left alone.

For some reason, Brad felt the invisible tension between them tighten in the darkness. His thoughts were murky and odd and he was ashamed for thinking them, but with Daryl's even breathing a mere two feet away he couldn't help it. He thought about Daryl, about his confession and the way, just for a moment, he'd looked so vulnerable. He thought of how much he must have trusted him, to tell him something so personal and probably scary.

He tossed and turned for what seemed like forever before drifting off, gnawing at his lip in utter confusion at the thoughts swirling around in his brain.

BDBDBDBDBDBDBD

Daryl Coopersmith never thought he would tell anyone about his internal conflict, but after the night they'd had, he'd come to a decision.

He never let it show, but he was _lonely_. There was no other word for it. Daryl acted cocky, acted like he was perfectly fine, but when his parents were never home long enough to even reprimand him for the dirty magazines he left blatantly open around the house and his sister was off to college and he'd never been particularly good at making friends… Well, it didn't leave him with a whole lot of human companionship. Just a cat that liked to twine around his legs as he walked around the empty house and a next door neighbor who had no idea.

He hadn't been kidding when he said that he would tell his parents about Chris taking Brad and Sara to the city. If he was perfectly honest, it wasn't just the sense of adventure that he wanted; he wanted to go to make sure _Brad_ was safe. Lately he'd been coming over more and more often, just showing up at the back door with a joke or a magazine to show him, just an excuse to see the person who had become his closest friend.

If he didn't have Brad, who did he have?

Now, lying in bed in the dark listening to the other boy's breathing even out as he drifts off, Daryl fidgets and twists his fingers together anxiously. He can't help but feel like Brad is nervous around him now that he knows. What if he was never comfortable with him ever again? He wouldn't blame him. He had been completely out of line.

It was just… Sometimes it weighed on him. That he wasn't normal, that he had to keep this secret or risk getting pummeled, that no one could know how perverted he REALLY was. It made him feel even more isolated.

If he was going to tell anyone, it had to be Brad. So he had. But now he was starting to regret it.

Until…

Unable to sleep, Daryl contented himself with laying under the covers and shifting around uncomfortably. Minutes ticked by slowly and he couldn't stop himself from watching the red numbers on Brad's digital clock placed on the nightstand between their beds, groaning internally at the way each second lasted an eternity. He should be tired. It _had_ been a long day, he hadn't been lying, and he had homework that he had to not do when he went home the next day, and and and-

There wasn't a real reason that he was still awake. He had no way to justify it. But he was, and it didn't look like he was getting to sleep anytime in the near future.

And then, he heard the strangest noise. It was quiet, a hitched breath barely audible, but he froze and strained his ears to hear it again. Was that-?

Cautiously, Daryl glanced over to the other bed to the lump of Brad's sleeping form under the covers. He hadn't moved since the last time he'd looked, but his head had turned and his mouth was parted slightly, eyes still closed. Daryl couldn't help staring. He'd told himself over and over that Brad probably didn't even realize that he was his best friend, let alone that he was having really not okay thoughts about him at random times of day, popping up without warning.

Waking up with the usual morning wood, rolling over and thinking of Brad, wondering if he was waking up the same way at the same moment in the house next door. In the shower, beating off to some Playboy centerfold that would sometimes flash to a picture of Brad's grinning face in his mind, Brad's lips on his. At night, lying in bed unable to sleep trying to figure the mess in his head out. Trying to convince himself that what he was feeling wasn't a growing crush on the boy next door.

And damn it, this was not okay. He needed to stop. He needed to tear his eyes away, plug his ears, stop thinking of Brad _period_.

But that was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do.

Brad's breathing grew more erratic, and there was the muffled sound of the covers being shifted, a barely perceptible movement around where Brad's waist would be. His lips parted a little more, a soft moan escaping, more like a whimper than anything. Daryl felt the blood in his body go to war with himself, fighting on whether to shoot north to his reddening cheeks or south to his rapidly hardening erection.

"You gotta be shittin' me," he mumbled to himself, squirming with embarrassment. Brad was having a wet dream and he was in the room. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, this was so, so wrong. His mind flooded with images of what was going on beneath the covers, and he had to jerk his head to the side to stop staring blatantly at his friend as he panted and thrust into his hand in his sleep, probably dreaming of Chris or some other pretty girl with giant tits that they'd seen that night.

Time wasn't passing any more quickly, and the seconds were torturous; finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and he disentangled himself from the sheets, rolling out of bed and padding across the floor- hardwood cold against his feet- to nudge his friend's arm.

"Hey," he hissed, fighting off the flush on his cheeks. He hoped that it wasn't too noticeable in the dark. "Hey. Brad. Wake up, dude, are you- are you having a nightmare or somethin'?"

If that was a nightmare, it must have been a really, really pleasant one. But to his great relief, Brad closed his mouth and stopped moving, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before his eyes slowly blinked open. He peered up at Daryl blearily.

"Wha..?" the brunet slurred, sitting up on his elbows and letting the blankets fall down his chest. He seemed to realize in that moment that his hand was down his pants and abruptly blushed a shade of red that made the redhead almost wish that the lights were on so he could appreciate it in its full glory. He extracted too obviously, trying too hard to be subtle and looked up at his friend slightly more alertly. "S'goin' on?"

"Nothing… you just sounded like you were…" he trailed off, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. A dangerous idea had taken root and he was struggling not to let his impulsive nature get the best of him. "I don't know. I thought you were having a bad dream. Sorry…"

"O-oh. Yeah… Bad dream…" Brad said lamely. His mind whirred as he processed the images that, twenty seconds ago, had been making his skin too hot and his cock twitch in his hand. They _should_ have been of Chris. Chris who he'd been crushing on for almost a year now. But they weren't, and the person who had been in her place was _not_ who he would have expected.

Daryl's lips twitched up despite himself into a half-smirk, and before he could stop himself he'd climbed into Brad's bed with him, causing the other boy to edge away in alarm. "D-Daryl, what are you-"

"Relax. I was just having a bad dream myself," he grinned, kneeling on the bed beside him and looking down. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Why was he such an idiot? This wasn't going to end well and then he'd end up alone without even Brad to keep him sane. "Just wanted to help…"

"Help? With what?" Brad squeaked. The knowing way Daryl was looking at him had him nervous. He looked like he _knew_ all of the sick, perverted fantasies Brad had been cooking up in his sleep. The thought made ice travel down his spine, paralyzing fear.

"Didn'tcha ever hear of two guys helping each other out?" he asked, arching one reddish eyebrow. Brad shook his head, biting his lip. He figured that it was only natural that Daryl knew these obscure things before he did; Daryl always seemed to know more. Like how women had something called a clitoris that was just like the head of their dicks, and how the whole 'sixty-nine' thing worked.

Maybe it should bother him more what Daryl was implying, what he could see coming, but his still erect dick was screaming for attention and he didn't have many options other than to stay put and see how this played out.

"Well, think about it." As he talked, the other boy pushed the covers down Brad's body, stripping his protection away and leaving him near naked and vulnerable. The brunet sat up, cross-legged, hunching over his lap in embarrassment and not quite meeting Daryl's eyes with a nervous smile. "Think about it," he repeated, scooting closer to him, so close that their knees were touching. "Getting off is fine, but it feels better when someone else does it for you, right?"

"Y-yeah I guess that makes sense…" Brad stammered, licking his lips. The way Daryl was looking at him, a mixture of amusement and hesitant lust, probably shouldn't turn him on. But he had to trust him. Daryl knew everything there was to know about sex, and if he said this was okay then it must be. "So…"

"It's just two guys helping each other out," the other boy explained, sounding matter of fact, and Brad nodded again in agreement. Then Daryl's hand rested on his knee, creeping upward, and those piercing blue eyes were on him daring him to follow his lead- and he did.

It was awkward at first. The only sound in the room was their matching pants and nervous breathing, and his own heartbeat in his ears. The moment that Daryl's hand touched his cock through the thin material of his boxers he thought he would die, and he couldn't hold back a light moan, wrapping his own hand around Daryl's own thick, throbbing appendage, drawing a similar noise from the other boy. Neither of them had ever been touched like this before; their experiences were purely self-exploratory ones. This was an entirely new feeling, someone else's hand doing the job they'd done themselves for so long, and it was just slightly exhilarating.

Brad tried not to think about Daryl. He really did. He closed his eyes, panting and making those pathetic little whimpering noises that he'd have to apologize for later, and he tried desperately to imagine it was Chris. But Daryl's hand was too large, too rough to be hers, and his deep groans were definitely not comparable to the higher-pitched female type.

Daryl had given up on not imagining Brad the moment he'd climbed into that bed. Fuck. He was queer and he had it bad for his best friend. But this didn't have to be the end of the world… After all, this was beneficial for both of them. They both got off, they both got their first hand job- it couldn't go wrong. And, God, he wouldn't give up the feeling of Brad's tentative strokes on his cock, palm warm and eyes shut tightly , for anything in the world. He stared at him the entire time, even as their movements became more jerky and erratic, hands sliding along each other's lengths, and then Brad's thighs began to tense-

Stringy white bursts of cum shot over his hand and wrist, hot and wet, and the desperate sound of Brad's groan brought him over the edge. Daryl came with Brad's name silently spilling from his lips, mouthing it because he knew that if he put a voice to it he would never live it down.

Still twitching and bodies thrumming with adrenaline from their jerk off session, the boys stared at each other for a moment, hands covered in the evidence of their deed. Brad bit his lip and averted his eyes, reaching behind him to wipe his sticky hand on the side of the bed, eyes flickering from Daryl's face to his hand nervously. That same anxious smile graced his lips and Daryl felt his heart skip a beat.

God, he was _cute_.

The words hit him and he winced.

God, he was a _fag_.

He didn't have a lot of time to analyze this, though, before he was wiping his own hand off and wordlessly climbing back out of bed, stumbling a little unsteadily back to his bed and collapsing into it. "G'night, Brad," he murmured contently, the exhaustion of the night's events finally catching up to him, and within minutes the welcome blackness had descended over his mind.

"Good night, Daryl…" Brad dazedly watched as his friend, nonchalant as ever, fell asleep and began to snore. As if nothing had happened. As if nothing earth-shatteringly important had happened and changed the dynamic of their friendship for good, forever, because oh God they'd just jerked each other off and there was no going back-

Wait. No. Hadn't Daryl said something about other guys doing this? Hadn't he? So… this was normal, right? He wasn't just weird and having dirty thoughts about his next door neighbor.

Deciding that he was definitely overthinking things, Brad followed Daryl's example again and succumbed to his fatigue.

He could think about it tomorrow.

BDBDBDBDBDBDBD

The morning sprung up on them both without much warning. It went like this; Brad's mother and Sara barging in, shaking them awake, the little girl's squeaky voice irritating Brad in a way that nothing else could, and a few bleary minutes later they were sitting up and pulling on their clothes, ready for another day.

"G'morning," Daryl said conversationally. He looked no different than usual; same goofy expression, same lopsided smile and bright red hair, same relaxed posture and outline of his Playboy tucked under his jacket as he pulled his shoes on. "Any good dreams? Like.. of _Chriiiis?_ " His voice was teasing, suggestive. Brad stared at him for a moment.

"… No?" he replied, confused. He wondered for a moment if Daryl even remembered what had transpired the night before. How could he be so casual? Wasn't he just as freaked out by the entire thing as Brad was? "Um… you?"

Their conversation over breakfast was just the same, their normal pattern- girls and video games- and then Daryl was leaving, waving goodbye as he walked out the back door and hopped the fence over into his own yard. Brad watched him go from the doorway, slumping against it, bemused.

Daryl sure was a nutcase. He'd been too afraid to ask him if he remembered; something told him that he should avoid that potentially awkward situation. And now he might never know.

Brad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, then grimaced as he realized which one it was.

Ugh. Gross.

Shaking his head, he changed his mind. This was going to drive him insane.

He'd have to ask him about it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Adventures in Babysitting is NOT mine. Scouts' honor. (who am I kidding, I'm not a scout...) But seriously.

Monday morning brought the same vaguely shameful sense of confusion, and Brad didn't like it one bit. He'd spent the entire day before trying to puzzle it out- but how was he supposed to explain that, even to himself? He was fifteen and his friend- who barely hours before had outed himself to him- had jerked him off. And he'd returned the favor.

To be honest, Brad had no idea why.

He was a little apprehensive as he approached the bus stop, bag slung over one shoulder, and his feet dragged on the pavement. Dread pooled in his gut at the thought of actually doing this, actually broaching a topic that, once out there, might never be stuffed away in the closet in the back of his head ever again. For sure, Daryl's mind-closet was already wide open- it had been _his_ idea, after all, and _he_ was the one who was bi. Not Brad.

Well… Maybe Brad…

No! _Stop thinking like that!_ Looking up, Brad offered a nervous smile to the redhead standing beside him at the bus stop. Daryl seemed distracted and nervous, and not in the way Brad was. He shifted slightly from foot to foot, knuckles squeezed tight around the strap of his bag over one shoulder. Actually, if he really thought about it, Daryl looked like this an awful lot of the time when he was waiting at the bus stop. The only time he was ever really relaxed seemed to be…

At Brad's house.

Frowning at that, Brad opened his mouth to speak and very quickly shut it again when his neighbor gave him a questioning look. Shit, he wasn't ready for this. Why did he think this would be a good idea, anyways? Asking another guy about this kind of thing. Yeah, right. Only girls talked about feelings like that with each other, girls and couples. And they were neither.

The thought of being in a couple with Daryl made him cringe, and he was glad when the bus finally pulled up to the stop and disrupted the carefully crafted silence between them. It was starting to get awkward.

Still, when Daryl- as usual- trudged to the back seat of the bus and left him to sit in the front, he had no choice but to notice the hangdog loneliness on his face.

But Daryl wasn't lonely. He had a big house and a cat, a billion Playboys and allowance and probably other friends that Brad just didn't know about.

Daryl wasn't lonely- was he?

**BDBDBDBDBDBDBD**

"Hey Coopersmith, how's your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, how's fag number two doin', huh? Spend the night at his place this weekend? Finally gottim' into bed, huh, Dar-Bear?"

Shrinking further into the seat, Daryl struggled to breathe. His claustrophobia hadn't improved in all the years that he'd forced himself to sit in the back of the bus with these assholes- in fact, it had probably gotten worse. But still, he refused to move. His ass was parked on this green leather seat and there wasn't a person there who was willing to physically remove it.

They could tease him all they wanted. It was his seat and he'd sit there whenever he damn well pleased, whether they liked him or not.

"How was he, huh? How was he in the sack? You can tell us, can't he? Yeah, we're your buddies. You can tell us."

"Ooooh, Coopersmith's blushing guys- musta been good. Hey, faggot, why don't you tell us about what you and your butt buddy do? Yeah, we're super interested, aren't we?"

He swallowed hard, the tears building at the corners of his eyes stinging shamefully, but still he stayed silent and wished to himself that Brad would sit with him. It was sort of stupid of him not to have asked- the curly-haired boy would probably say yes, think nothing of it. But damn it, Daryl had his pride! Getting beat up by that Mike jerk hadn't snuffed it out completely. If anything it had only made him resist harder, even in peaceful protest like this, just sitting woodenly and enduring the abuse.

The sneering boy nearest him gave his shoulder a "playful" punch to the shoulder and he winced, automatically rubbing at what was probably going to be an enormous bruise by fourth period. "Why so quiet, Dar-Bear, huh?"

"Leave me alone," he heard himself mumble, barely even audible, but it was a reaction and that was what they wanted. The three boys surrounding him leered, grins widening, and he had a brief moment of panic wondering what they would do to him now.

Stupid, stupid! He should have kept his stupid mouth shut-

All at once the bus lurched to a stop in front of the school and he heaved a sigh of relief, unable to contain it, and hastily scrambled to his feet. Book bag slung over his shoulder he pushed through into the aisle and nearly ran down it before anyone else could stand, veins full of adrenaline and pulse accelerating. Behind him, the bullies jeered and taunted him, but he could hardly hear them over his own breathing.

The minute the doors opened he was out, stumbling onto the sidewalk and towards the school building. Sweet relief threatened to overcome him in an enormous wave, crashing down on him as he drew closer to safety- the teachers had to at least protect him from physical violence, right?

A gaggle of girls, clad in violent shades of pink and purple and smelling like they'd bathed in the choking scent of their perfume, took a large detour around him with their noses in the air haughtily. Right. He was the school pervert- not the school punching bag. Not to them, anyways. And he ought to keep up the act for their sake. Daryl briefly wondered how many people had any inkling whatsoever that he was being bullied at all.

Probably none. No one really cared about the school pervert. They just made jokes about him, about him and the supposed peephole he had in the girl's locker room, about him and the various girls who claimed he'd hit on them.

And in the corner of his eye, someone would be sneering and shaking a fist in his direction tauntingly, a hidden threat that only he, apparently, could see.

He just hoped that none of those boys would actually show up to gym today, or he was toast.

**BDBDBDBDBDBDBD**

Praising his good fortune, Daryl watched from the shadowy corner of the locker room as the last of the changing boys filed out into the gym, letting the door slam behind him with a thunk. None of his tormentors were present today, although they hardly ever were, and it was difficult enough to make it to class on time when he had to change with the other boys, let alone _them_.

Still twitchy, rubbing the bruise that he had correctly predicted on his shoulder, Daryl cautiously crept out into the open and scurried across the tile to his gym locker. He couldn't help continually glancing over his shoulder as he dialed his combination.

Sometimes it seemed as though one of them was always lurking behind him, ready to humiliate him or hurt him or make him wish he was dead.

God, but he wished Brad was in his gym class…

Biting down hard on his lip, the redhead shook that thought out of his head. He really needed to stop thinking like that. So Brad had let him touch him once… Half-asleep and in the middle of a wet dream, he probably would have let anyone touch him. Even a boy, even Daryl with his lecherous grin and persuasive words. He wondered if he'd actually convinced Brad of anything with his claims.

" _Lots of guys do it."_

Yeah, right. Lots of guys like him, who don't want to admit to their pals that they're queer as a three dollar bill.

Brad didn't even know… He should do the right thing and tell him. But that would require bringing up the whole awkward situation all over again, and Daryl wasn't prepared to do that. Especially since he wasn't even entirely certain that Brad remembered the incident at all. Or maybe… maybe he'd liked it too, and was afraid to say something? Daryl supposed it was possible that Brad was as much of a closet fairy as he was- except there was Chris. Damn it. There was always SOMETHING to prove him wrong, wreck his fantasies…

As he pulled a tank top over his head, the scrawny boy stared into the mirror in intense concentration, scrutinizing his own skinny body. What had Brad seen in him that had made him agree, if he _had_ , on the off chance, been lucid? He was pale and too-thin, no muscle to be seen on him. He didn't look enough like a girl to be mistaken for one by any means, but he wasn't a very handsome male specimen either. Why HAD Brad agreed to that farce?

Not that it hadn't felt good, and he shouldn't be complaining when he can still feel the phantom grip of Brad's hand on his dick when he shifts and rubs up against his jeans, shuddering. Not that it wasn't the best experience by far of his young life…

There was a loud noise that made him jump, squeaking in an embarrassing manner, and he rethought his earlier claim. Okay. So maybe he could be mistaken for a girl, in the dark and with that sort of noise emanating from his throat…

Feeling rather depressed at the thought that Brad's sleepy mind had bent him into the opposite gender, Daryl hurried to pull his shorts on and slammed his gym locker shut with a clang. Whoever had reentered the locker room wasn't going to get any peeks at him if he had his say.

As he dashed for the back exit to the field outside, changing his mind spontaneously- who really needed to go to gym more than once in a month, anyways?- Daryl tried in vain to banish the disheartening thoughts from his head.

Brad was his friend and nothing more. There was no room to be rocking the boat with his queer ideas and a crush that he couldn't explain.

He was just going to have to live with that.

**BDBDBDBDBDBDBD**

_RIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!_

"Shit!" Daryl leapt to his feet, snapping out of his daydream, and winced at the soreness of his backside. Sitting on the ground for an hour plus was never very comfortable, but he hadn't had the good sense to take anything with him for entertainment or something to sit on. He slammed his shoulder into the door behind him madly, expecting it to swing open and let him inside, but instead there was a crack and he howled in pain, clutching at his wounded shoulder.

The fuck? Since when was this door one way? Groaning at his own bad luck he pounded on it in the hopes that someone would hear him and come open it. Three minutes passed and now his fist was sore, too… Nope. Just his luck. Damn this day to hell…

Giving up, he rounded the corner of the school and spotted to his dismay the same bullies from the disaster on the bus that morning boarding his afternoon bus, all snickering at something or other- probably another victim of theirs, currently sticking half out of one of the dumpsters behind the school. Well, it was official. There was no way he was getting on the bus. He'd just have to walk home.

Cursing himself for being such a frigging _idiot,_ he rubbed his arms morosely and began the long trek down the road. Halfway down the street, there was the sound of pounding feet behind him and he cringed, expecting to be hit- and instead received a friendly clap on his non-bruised shoulder.

"Hey! Where're you goin'?" Brad asked, smiling in confusion as he fell into step beside his redheaded friend. Daryl tried not to sag too obviously in relief, mustering a weak smile and holding his arms out as if presenting himself.

"Locked myself out of the locker room. Too lazy to go back in and get my shit… I figured I might as well walk home," he shrugged, hoping that Brad wouldn't question his logic. Thankfully, the other boy just nodded in acceptance and turned his eyes back to the sidewalk, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

"You're a doofus. You know?" His chuckle was infectious and Daryl found his mood lightening, the sudden dangerous urge to hug his friend rising up and battling with his common sense and manly pride in his chest. They, of course, won- two against one was a piece of cake and he thanked God for that, only dreading the day that he lost one of the two and had to gamble on how quickly he would reveal to Brad just how much he liked him.

"Yeah, but a sexy doofus." He waggled his eyebrows in the typical Daryl-like fashion and wondered where in the hell he conjured all of this fake confidence. If he could make everyone else believe that he was a self-assured young man, why couldn't he make _himself_?

Brad snorted. "Sure you are, Dar, sure… Hey, do you wanna hang out? Since I'm walkin' with ya already and all."

Perking up, the ginger nodded enthusiastically, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face and his heart from pounding in his chest. Automatically, he felt a vague stirring in his pants and shifted awkwardly doing his best to ignore it as memories of the other night flooded his mind again.

_What exactly does "hanging out" entail?_

Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Coopersmith…

_I hope it's the no-clothes kind._

Groaning at the workings of his own mind, he nevertheless managed to keep a straight face and nod. "Yeah, sounds cool… Parents aren't home this week." They never are. "And I don't really have homework." Not that I was planning on doing it anyways, with you around. "We could play Scrabble or somethin'."

 _Now that's got to be the geekiest thing you've ever suggested._ He winced, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, expecting the other boy to make a sarcastic comment or even accuse him for the night before- it had to be coming at some point, right?

It must have been his lucky day, because Brad disregarded this entirely and just continued nodding, staring at the ground with a slight smile. "Yeah, sure. Sure."

Daryl felt himself relax into a grin, letting out the breath he'd been holding. Perhaps there was hope for their friendship after all.

As long as he could keep his hands to himself.

**BDBDBDBDBDBDBD**

"Boobies!"

Successful, Daryl crowed and raised his arms over his head in triumph, grinning manically as his friend just rolled his eyes. They sat in the cool dimness of his bedroom on beanbag chairs, a Scrabble board laid out on the wooden floor between them. The redhead had made it his own personal challenge to spell out as many vulgar words as he possibly could, and so far he was doing well.

"Eleven points," Brad muttered, trying desperately not to smile. There was an anxious coiling in his gut telling him to "just get it _over_ with!" but so far, it had been two hours and he still couldn't make himself bring up the topic.

" _Hey Daryl, are you a fag?"_

Yeah, that was going to go over GREAT. And it wouldn't help if he asked if he thought that Brad was a fag, either, because what if he said yes? There was a large part of Brad that wanted to throw up just thinking about it. No, he was straight. As an arrow. He was just a healthy teenaged boy who wanted to try things and get off and- and-

 _Chris_. The thought of soft, pretty, oh-so-female Chris gave him a warm feeling of security, quelling his nerves. She always did.

After all, if he was so in love with Chris, there was no way that he could be _queer_.

"Boo-ya! I'm kicking your _ass_ ," Daryl boasted, smirking up at him with those bright blue eyes, and Brad had to think again as his stomach lurched pleasantly. He was leaning into his personal space, as per usual, too close for comfort and not even seeming to realize it. "You suck at this game."

"I never said I was good at it," he chuckled nervously, checking his watch. He had half an hour before his mom would start calling for dinner and- well, if any moment was the one, wasn't it this one?

They were alone, they were relaxed… It was still fresh in his mind. Daryl's hand wrapped around him, the velvety feeling of his friend's dick in _his_ hand making him shudder…

He had to do it now, before he lost his nerve.

"Hey, um- Dar?" he asked nervously, looking up from beneath his dark lashes at the paler boy still laughing at the wooden letters he was rearranging on the board. Daryl looked up curiously, flushing when he realized how close their lips were and backing slightly away even though all of his instincts were screaming for him to lean _closer_ , show Brad how he felt. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Sure, old buddy old pal," he replied, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice as he pulled his attention away from the game and curled his knees to his chest, hugging them as if they could protect him from his friend's next words. "What's goin' on?"

"Well…" Brad had trouble forming the words, glancing away in embarrassment and looking for anything he could use to distract him from his nerves. Daryl's room was surprisingly blank- he rarely ever ventured into his neighbor's house, but he'd always figured Daryl to be the foldout-posters-on-the-walls type. No such luck. There weren't any breasts on the wall to help him gather the courage to ask, voice higher than he was proud of, "W-what happened? The other night?"

Daryl, predictably, stiffened. "What do you mean?" His voice was low, guarded and more serious than Brad had ever heard it. He wondered if he had gone too far, scrambling to cover up his mistake, nearly choking on his embarrassment.

"I- I mean- I'm sorry! I just was wondering- you know, nevermind, it's not important man." Clamping his mouth shut he seemed to shrink into himself, face a fiery shade of red as he stared at the grains in the wood of the floor, wishing he could just melt into a puddle.

There was a pause and he was afraid that Daryl would ask him to leave, or tell him he didn't want anything to do with him if he was going around accusing people of being fags- or worse, deny the night ever happened. Instead, the other boy spoke up meekly. "Um. I think that was just- I mean- we were just helpin' each other out… S'called mutual masturbation," he added, sounding just as embarrassed as Brad felt.

The curly-haired boy felt a rush of relief. So he wasn't the only one who was nervous about this? The fact that Daryl hadn't yet pushed him and demanded he leave his house was so encouraging he could have hugged him.

But then, then that would make it homo and he didn't think they wanted to deal with that right that moment…

"O-oh. I was just wondering…" the next question bubbled to the surface before he could stop it, barely audible. "I was just wondering… If we could do that again… just cause- I dunno- for th-the sake of research and all…"

"For science?" Daryl cracked a grin, starting to feel himself relax as well. Damn if Brad couldn't always put his fears to rest. Giddy, he reached out a hand and rested it on his friend's thigh, trying not to feel nervous as the muscles jumped under his palm. "Yeah, yeah it's probably good… s'long as we don't have girlfriends to do it, yaknow?"

Brad gulped, eyes wide and dark as he nodded and shifted closer, hardly daring to believe this was happening _again_ \- and in broad daylight! His mother was going to kill him! He followed Daryl's example shakily, fingers crawling up his thigh to toy with his zipper and the redhead already looked ready to moan, face scrunched up slightly, breath hitching.

"Right… Everyone does it," he laughed anxiously, focusing on the task at hand- literally. "It's just an experiment."

"Gotta make sure the results the first time weren't a fluke…"

Conversation ceased as the two of them carefully managed to get their pants around their ankles, grasping at each other through their boxers. Daryl's heard was in his throat as he felt Brad grip the base of his rock-hard erection firmly, hand warm and slightly sweaty around him. At the first tug, he looked up and met those chocolate eyes, which seemed to be searching his for something, anything, that would confirm that this was okay.

He gulped as they began, skin on skin, room rapidly heating up with their rising body temperatures and the heat of their breath, coming in short, desperate pants.

Eyes locked, Daryl had a sinking feeling in his chest, hoping that it didn't show on his face as he pumped and thrust his hips forward.

Brad was going along with this now… but what about when he figured out that he was _in love_ with him? He'd be out the window and sprinting home in two seconds flat.

God, but he was fucked.

Even as he came, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, chest heaving with the force of his breath as he silently mouthed Brad's name, the words haunted him.

" _What happened? The other night?"_

A lot more than you think, Braddy boy.


End file.
